


Failed

by CrowsAce



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, EDNOS, Eating Disorders, Food, Human AU, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecure Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Non-Binary Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Open Ending, Others Mentioned - Freeform, Purging, Self-Harm, Suicidal Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Suicidal Thoughts, This was a one shot but sadness isnt a one time thing, Trans Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, binge eating, depressed, nose bleeds, suicidal, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:07:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28956186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowsAce/pseuds/CrowsAce
Summary: Vent fic.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags - this is kinda depressing.  
> Let me know if I missed any tags

Imagine being shit at the only thing you're good at, you might wonder how? It's the only thing you're good at, how can you be shit at it?

Well Roman didn't know, he just was - occasionally a good art piece was produced but that was often by accident and rarely - and he says 'good' but it's not actually _good_ \- it's just better than the other shit he's done before.

And for someone that's been doing art for a very long time - well over a decade - it was no wonder he was so disappointed in himself.

He remembered off handedly commenting to a friend about - it was just a self depreciating joke when they're deadline approached - but it made the person snap at them how it was his own fault he wasn't good at art - how he didn't spend 10 hours a day on the work like everyone else would - he didn't know how people could spend 10 hours on something - did he get that hyperfixated? Did he use to? Now days it was hard to do _anything_ let alone spend even an hour on drawing - he knew realistically he had spent hours on drawing such before, remembered starting a piece in the morning and not finishing it till later that evening - it was still shit.

He wasn't original.

He had no talent.

He had no other skill that will help him get by in life.

When he was younger he was told he had to be there for his brother - because when his parents were gone Roman would only have Remus, and Remus Roman. Remus had server learning difficulties/low functioning autism - this meant his brother needed a lot of care - one time he was in a shared home with others that had disabilities, but they had found out that the careers would use their shower and have the heating turned way up - and considering his brother and the other room mates had to pay for all that - it was bad, not to mention the care company had actually stolen money from his brother and got away with it - it was the same company his mum used to work for till she reported abuse - but the company defended the abuser and made life hell for his mum, so she left, then his nan got cancer and she had to take care of her.

Now his mum had a lot of health problems too.

  
  


And what could he do to help them?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

He was pathetic.

He didn't deserve to be alive anymore, _he didn't want to be alive anymore._

But he couldn't just end it could he? They all still had hope that he would be useful - but his brother was doing better now, had his own flat - had a volunteer job at a cat cafe, the owner Patton was nice~

He had a lot of money saved up and said he was gonna take them all on holiday when the pandemic was over.

He didn't need Roman anymore.

  
  


For so many years his brother was his excuse _to live._

  
  


_He didn't need Roman anymore._

Roman didn't sleep well - he wouldn't fall asleep till the early hours of the morning - he'd either wake up just as early or not till noon - his family made plans and did things without him.

  
  


_None of the ever really needed him did they? He just needed them to need him._ But now it was all so clear.

  
  


He watched in morbid fascination as the tissue absorbed the blood up - watching as even held in such a way the blood still travel up. 

Another scar added to the collection - _god_ he really was so pathetic, when would it be the last time? Because he said last time was gonna be the last time.

His arm was so fucked. 

So was his leg.

And stomach.

_When will it be the last time?_

  
  


He wasn't good at being alive, his only reasons to stay didn't need him - never needed him.

  
  


Maybe this time it can be the last time.


	2. A new day a new vent~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings more or less

Roman didn't know why he was crying.

The F for fail stared at him from the screen, it wasn't unexpected - no it was fully expected. He had struggled so hard on doing work for that unit, not at all good or even confident in his abilities for art he had to do - and all he had to do was trace a 3D model, no he really had no skills huh?

It wasn't enough, he should have done more, barely any hours was put into the work that was handed in.

How did he explain that he spent ages on them? Some of them he had to re-do a few times after each feedback?

How does he say he made a mistake and shouldn't be here, that he wasn't actually good at art… it was just the only grade he had ever gotten? - Well that and IT but that really was cheating so it doesn't count.

  
  


God why was he this bad at everything?

He was useless, a burden. _Why was he crying?_

**_You know you're not good enough, you already knew the work wasn't good enough, stop crying._ **

See he had hoped that even though he sucked at it, he'd at least be able to pass the course, but failing a unit meant he wouldn't be able to - and due to the structure of his course they only way he would be able to graduate would be by re-doing the year, _no thanks._

He thought about how disappointed his family will be in him, _again._

He just couldn't do anything right, could he…

Rubbing his eyes he went to grab his second coffee of the day - he had a few more meetings to go to, was there a point anymore? There never really was to begin with, was there.

He was just a burden.

No one needed him anymore right?

Remus didn't need him, his mum didn't need him, maybe he could send her all his money - it wasn't a lot but it was more than he could ever provide, maybe sell some of his things as well, or give them to friend, he didn't deserve them anymore.

  
  


He didn't need them anymore.

  
  


God he was so tired…

Imagine being shit at the only thing you're good at… what would you do?

What if you tried it all? At least once, just to see if you could - but never succeeded.

What if the only thing you can do to live somewhat adequately was to do something you hate till you die? Something that makes you want to scream and cry?

He knew others did it.

  
  


But he always dreamt of more. 

Even with all the bad things that happened to him, he always still held onto that small feeling of hope. 

  
  


But that feeling had long since dried up now.

_God he was tired._

  
  


He was never gonna be what he dreamt of being.

  
  


Talentless, useless, pathetic, worthless, nothing more than a burden.

A Failure.  
  
  


When will it be the last time?

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this may be updated regularly


	3. Tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings as the previous chapters

Roman blankly watched the blood dribble down his arm - home alone he wasn't worried about being caught, no one would care if they saw anyway, or worse they would.

It was hard to say how his family would react, their responses varied everytime, he still remember when he was somewhere around 16-18 and he told his mum he was suicidal - she kept asking him what was wrong with him, he kept trying to brush her off till finally confessing…

Only for her to breakdown, _"Do you know that feels! To hear your child say that!"_ She still asks him from time to time, especially when he's mood is so low it's obvious to everyone - but now he'll either stick to "I'm fine." Or "I'm kinda sad." He didn't want to upset her again, it wasn't fair.

  
  


Getting help isn't easy when you're nothing but a liar.

He wasn't even good at lying most of the time, but he supposes it's one of those lies that people really want to believe - so they accept it.

_1, 2, 3 and stop._

There was no time for more - there were things to do.

He was so tired all the time.

  
  


What should he do now...


	4. Tired again

" _Hi_

_My doctor told me to seek help if my suicidal thoughts keep up, but I'd feel too anxious talking on the phone, and I never say what I mean anyway - I guess its easier to write this stuff out._

_I don't know if I'd ever actually do it, I think about all the ways in which I could, and I wouldn't stop myself from getting hit by a car or something, but it doesn't stop me from thinking of jumping off the bridge nearby and just letting myself drown._

_Nothing is going right, no matter how much I try, I spent so long trying but only to always fail in the end anyways, and perhaps its because i think I'll fail so therefore I do, but that would be a lie, because sometimes it feels like I could do it - that I'll reach whatever goal I have and things will be somewhat ok, only to be proven wrong._

_But I'm too tired to keep pretending that things will finally be ok when it's so clear it won't be._

_Maybe I should be brave for once, and finally do it_

_Sorry"_

He looked over the email he had penned out, biting his lip nervously as he thought about whether he should send it or not, would it be worth it? Would they respond? Should he add more, explain more? Was he just being an attention seeking bitch?

Was it pointless?

What response would he expect? What could anyone do, his thoughts were static in his mind, constant in their insistence, demanding to be heard, to be followed.

He wondered what it would be like to wake up everyday and not think about killing himself.

To go through the day without his mind leaving him with the static. 

His doctor put him on meds, and so far nothing - he supposes they wouldn't work right away anyway… but still…

He didn't think he could go on anymore - he really was so tired now, he wanted to leave.

He wanted out.

Did he delete the email, or did he send it? 

What help could it possibly provide? 

What could they do?

He was sure ending it all will hurt his family, maybe they'll never get over it, but they were better off without him leaching off them. After all they didn't need him anymore.

Had he mentioned he was tired?

Sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send, or not send?


	5. Expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: self harm, suicidal thoughts

_ Send _ .

  
  
  
  


The exchange was short, and useless.

He expected nothing less.

Yet he had hoped for more.

Inane questions that lead to nowhere, he didn't know why he thought it would help. He couldn't even talk to his doctor properly.

  
  


His thoughts drifted to Remus, his older brother had a lot planned, so excited to begin doing stuff - upset that the pandemic was holding him back, wishing for it to be over so he can go do the things he had planned, the holidays he wished to go on, the fun there was to be had…

  
  


Surely his brother wasn't like him, didn't wake up every day with the same thought he had before bed, dying.

  
  


He hated it so, he just wished he could go a day feeling ok, but having an ok day felt like everything else was a lie. 

  
  


He thought of his best friend, Logan, so smart - he started his own small business over the course of the pandemic, it was impressive how well he was doing - he had his down days too, but he had goals he dreamt to reach, amazing things yet to do. 

  
  
  


What did he have?

  
  


Crippling anxiety, server depression, broken dreams and a heavy past - and that was all pathetic wasn't it?

Surely that stuff can be put behind him, he can work on his issues and get new dreams.

  
  


But what was the point? It will all fail anyway.

  
  


He was going to die anyway.

  
  
  
  


He hadn't spoken to Logan in awhile, unable to meet for the time being… maybe he could make a plan… he wondered if that special place still made the best cookies.

  
  


Maybe he should make a plan…

  
  
  


… but he wasn't fond of making plans or promises he would never keep.

  
  
  


Because he just didn't know what would happen anymore.

  
  
  


A glint catches his eye, he shouldn't keep it so nearby.

He should have put it away, to avoid harm for another day.

But 1, 2, 3, 4 - the collection grows evermore.

  
  


He said it was the last time, last time.

  
  


He didn't know when the last time was.

  
  
  


Because above all else, if there was one thing Roman could be dependent on being, it was a coward.

  
  


Too cowardly to improve and too cowardly to end it all - sure there was more to it than bravery and cowardice, but it summarised how things were.

  
  
  


He wondered in the end, just what kind of brave he'll be.

  
  
  



	6. The scales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️   
> Eating disorders, endos, weight gain, weight loss, unhealthy eating habits

An extension for his uni work was given, and wasn't that a big sigh of relief, now he should be getting on with that, planning his time better to get things done, surely now things would be ok... but things were never that simple, _there was just always something else, wasn't there..._

He knew he shouldn't do it, he told himself he wouldn't.

A pandemic and a lockdown wasn't a time to worry about how much he weighed.

But there were the scales he had hidden away, his mother now once more obsessed with losing weight and telling him all about it, a stone, 14lbs, she had lost so far…

He was so scared to step on the scales.

He knew he gained.

  
  


He binged more than he purged, it was too loud in such a small space where he could be heard - not to mention the unfortunate consequence from the years of unhealthy habit brought him, choking on the food as blood poured from his nose and his eyes turned red, no such actions were hard to do now days, but eating both disgusted and gave him great comfort - it felt almost impossible to give it all up.

  
  


It seemed like cheating in a way to weigh himself both before and after going to the toilet, but why not…

  
  


… he was right, he had gained, but just because he knew that didn't make the sight of the numbers any easier to see, his hands pinched at his body with disgust, grabbing and pulling the bits he wished to get rid of.

  
  


He almost laughed when he weighed himself after and found he already lost 4lbs, you'd think that alone would settle in his mind that the scales wasn't an accurate way to measure his worth.

But he stored the number away anyway, he had to get back to how he once was - it doesn't matter if back then he was more callous with his words and actions, it didn't matter that he was almost always on the edge of a psychotic breakdown - honestly when wasn't he at this point? Though perhaps that wasn't so accurate now, now he was just more suicidal and sullen, and whilst the urges were there back then, it was far more chaotic in his mind. But that didn't matter.

Not when he had been so much flatter, if only he knew back then that he wasn't a she, instead of wearing the dresses his family would buy him, just so he could hear people tell his family how "pretty" how "beautiful" they thought  _ she  _ was - how he wished he didn't crave such praise to have some feeling of worth - especially when it always made him die a little inside - it was funny how he could never figure out just why, how he craved to be  _ flat  _ but unable to explain just exactly what he meant by that…

  
  


But this time… this time  _ he knew  _ what he wanted, what he craved, and if he got closer to his goal, to looking like the  _ man of his dreams  _ then perhaps his family would finally understand him and respect him, they say they understand, but they mock him anyway, they understand but his pronouns will be dismissed,  _ he was there little girl, little sister, he wasn't a boy _ ,  _ there was no such thing as non binary - wasn't that just computer code? _

Well he'll show them. He'll show them all.

He couldn't tell anyone he was trying to lose weight though, they wouldn't care or be concerned about a repeat of the past, not when they so easily shoved him from their lives leaving him to self destruct alone - no no no, he couldn't tell them because for as long as he could remember his mum, even his nan, were always trying to lose weight, succeeding only to gain it all once again, a cycle he gotten stuck on, and whilst his mum was met with praise and words of encouragement, he was met with disbelief - too many times he said he would only to fail once more, it didn't matter that they too failed, not when they tried harder than him.

  
  


Because it didn't how much exercise he did, its what he ate that they judged, and there was just so many things he couldn't stand eating, things that made him cringe with disgust from the feeling alone, stuff he had to spit back out - he used to have breakdowns when he was little, now he tried to keep silent and pick the things out whilst being told off for being fussy, no matter how many times he explained he hated to the  _ feeling _ of it, no matter how many times he explained he didn't want any food prepared for him - only to be meet with more angry words no matter what.

  
  


Well this time he'll have to make it  _ clear _ . 

He couldn't fail his goal this time, because this time  _ was the last time. _

He was done giving himself chances only to be disappointed in himself yet again.

  
  


_ This time was the last time _ .


End file.
